


Reach

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel & Sam Winchester Friendship, Castiel and Sam bonding like we were PROMISED, Dean's Top 13 Zepp Traxx Mixtape, Gen, Headcanon, Heavy Angst, Hurt Sam Winchester, I've only been waiting since First Born in season NINE, Love Confessions, M/M, Michael Dean - Freeform, Mixtape, Post Season 13, Pre-Season/Series 14, Spoilers, Yes im bringing it back for the third time but with a twist, You Have Been Warned, anyway enjoy the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 12:03:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16218638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: Cas’s hand shakes on the tape. He’s well aware he could be experiencing side effects of the tracking spell. Fear, anxiety, maybe a little bit of hunger. It could also be all the traveling, from anonymous tips to police reports and the weekly search parties. But it’s nothing his grace shouldn’t be able to mend. Hell, his grace has healed bullet holes and stab wounds. It just seems like he’s getting weaker, despite his abundance of grace. Even just a few drops of grace suck the life out of him.Perhaps because even his celestial form can’t handle the pain of losing Dean.





	Reach

**Author's Note:**

> Song: "The River" by Imagine Dragons
> 
>  
> 
> So yeah, I'm super excited about Sam's beard to get its moment in the spotlight-- I've only also been waiting for that for years. May season 14 bring us many steamy Destiel moments, cute Sastiel scenes, and Sam being happy??? That would be nice. I think I speak for everyone when I say this boy's been through enough. They all have.

 

 _In the latest midnight hour_  
When the world has gone to sleep  
You gotta get up  
When doubts begin to rise  
And the world is at your feet  
You gotta get up

 

Reach

Cas’s hand shakes on the tape. He’s well aware he could be experiencing side effects of the tracking spell. Fear, anxiety, maybe a little bit of hunger. It could also be all the traveling, from anonymous tips to police reports and the weekly search parties. But it’s nothing his grace shouldn’t be able to mend. Hell, his grace has healed _bullet holes and stab wounds_. It just seems like he’s getting weaker, despite his abundance of grace. Even just a few drops of grace suck the life out of him.

Perhaps because even his celestial form can’t handle the pain of losing Dean.

Without hesitation, aside from the minor inconvenience his hand is giving him, he slides the tape in.

 _“Hey, man… so you’ve probably noticed a trend here: I’m not Robert Plant. Although that would be pretty rad. Did you know I wanted to be a Rockstar growing up?”_ Though his voice doesn’t waver, Dean sniffs before laughing, _“That’s probably a stupid question... I mean, who doesn’t wanna tour the world and be surrounded by fans chanting your name? And knowing at the end of the day, with all the pain and horror and suffering in the world, you brought thousands of people together for one night?... Not to mention the free nudes at every show..._

_The part I couldn’t commit to was pouring my soul out to thousands of people. I could deal with someone seeing me sweaty and tired. Hell, the Beatles didn’t even have to move. They could just stand there on stage and receive applause… but even they knew they’d eventually have to sing “Hey Jude”. And that’s a song that’s been played in sold-out arenas and concert halls and benefit shows… And then there are songs like “The Stroke” and “Cherry Pie”. Not to say they’re not kickass songs… they’re just kickass songs played on shitty stereos in bars and strip clubs._

_Basically, it takes a little more soul to be remembered. And I’d like to be remembered. I don’t think I’m special in that regard… but it’s hard when people don’t know_ what _to remember. Do they remember the gun-slinging, beer-drinking deadbeat smartass that kidnapped his brother from a success story? What about the straight-laced FBI agent that poked around their quiet little town and left skid marks on their freshly-paved roads? Or the guy that royally screwed over the world a few times for his own selfish reasons?_

_Maybe they’ll remember a guy who had every opportunity in-between to write a hit single of his own—maybe even duet with the person he conveniently refers to as “baby” or “darling” instead of Cas.”_

Dean’s laugh rumbles the car, _“This is right around the time I’d come back with something funny. You know, something to take the levity out of the situation—something that’ll probably make Sam regret sharing the same womb. But I don’t have any jokes. I… The way that I…”_ Dean’s sigh over the recording sounds like a flash flood, and the scratching that follows sounds like a car swerving to avoid a head-on collision rather than dull fingernails scraping away at a wooden desk. _“I’ll just leave it to the pros. Here’s 13 more Zeppelin tracks.”_

The tape stops, but not on its own accord.

“I needed you to hear this... in case it’s the last thing you hear from your brother.”

Sam sets the tape on the dash, but doesn’t turn in the passenger’s seat to meet Cas’s eyes. The comment that follows doesn’t match the weeks’ old stubble stuck to his face or the vacancy in his eyes. “We’ll find him, Cas.”

“Will we?” Cas hates the way he sounds. So petulant, so defiant. He knows Sam is grappling with this too—the downcast expression he’s returning him just before he bows his head is enough to convince anyone that he is. But he also hates false optimism. Dean’s riding shotgun to an _archangel._ Cas knows what that’s like—even Sam, for God’s sake! It’s like trying to fit a T-bone steak into a small plastic container—and that’s as an angel. Dean may be Michael’s true fit, but Cas knows angels aren’t exactly environmentally conscientious about their human vessels. He’s seen Sam’s soul after pulling him from the Cage. “Will we find him? Or will we find a...” A lump of rue clogs his throat. He swallows. “...a shell of a man who looks like Dean?”

“He found himself,” Sam says before whipping his head to Cas, realizing the depth behind those words. “Through you. Through that tape. If anything is gonna help him fight Michael’s control, it’s _you,_ Cas. There’s hope.”

“I’m afraid hope is a one-way street.”

“Then we’ll tear up the dead end signs,” Sam argues as a well-deserved sigh escapes him. “Cas, we’re so close. Don’t give up on me yet. I can’t lose someone else.” He pauses, and there’s that look Dean’s always complaining about. The “puppy dog” look, as he pins it. “You didn’t give up on saving me from Lucifer.”

It takes everything in Cas to fill his vessel’s lungs with enough oxygen to speak. Courage is a slippery slope. So is love. You can have both and lose them just as quick. But Cas isn’t ready to lose Dean. So if that means the possibility of sliding into an ice bed of false façades, then so be it. It’s worth the risk. Dean, whether or not he believes it, is worth it. “We haven’t lost anyone. Not yet. We’ll keep looking.”

Sam nods. Cas isn’t sure how long they steep in the silence of a ‘73 Mustang (a car Dean would no doubt disapprove of) on an abandoned highway while rain softly patters against the windows—time has never been pressing for an angel, nor has it been after weeks of searching—, only that it feels foreign when Sam speaks again:

“Hey Cas?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we listen to the tape again?”

 

So they do. They replay the tape until it feels like Dean’s in the car with them—as wisecracking and determined as ever for their next case—, like he will be. Soon.

Cas’s life depends on it.

 

 

 _Reach, It's not as bad as it seems_  
I cleanse in the river for somebody else,  
For anyone but myself 


End file.
